


You Know I'm No Good

by July



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/July/pseuds/July
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gangland AU. Plenty of gratuitous sex and violence. That's really all there is to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know I'm No Good

Her feet were killing her, ankles wobbling as she finally punched the numbers into the keypad and heard that familiar click of the lock. Pushing the door open, she barely made it two steps before she kicked off her heels, feeling the sweet relief of having her feet flat on the floor again. Stretching out her tense arches, Hawke walked into the plush carpet of the main foyer of the penthouse and dropped the two heavy bags at her sides with a long sigh.

“Long night,” she grumbled, turning around to see Fenris gently placing his own two bags next to hers. Through tired eyes, she could see that his sharp black suit was stained with dark splotches. With a pout she approached the elf, taking the lapels in her hands, mourning the ruined fabric. What was worse was his white collared shirt underneath splattered red.

“You know you’re in worse shape,” he said with a smirk, reaching to tuck a piece of jet black hair behind her ear.

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head so that he cupped her face. She glanced down at herself, noticing her sequinned dress glimmering with blood that still looked wet. “Well, I do have a dry cleaner who doesn’t ask questions should we need these clothes again.”

Fenris just smiled, but he turned away from her, bending down to the bags, unzipping one of them revealing the wads of cash. Hawke crouched next to him, feeling a satisfying ache in her legs also from the shoes. “We can count it later, we should get out of these clothes.”

The water was running in the spacious shower, steam fogging up the glass as she kissed him, long and soft. As the room grew humid, Hawke could feel Fenris’s hands begin to unzip the back of her dress, letting the ruined garment drop to the floor, exposing her breasts. She rapidly undid his buttons, shirking the dirtied suit as they quickly removed their remaining clothes. Hawke moaned as the warm water soothed her aching body, Fenris’s hands running over her skin, undoing all the knots. Her hands were on his chest, feeling the pulsing lyrium in her fingertips, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed herself against him. The evidence of their violent evening was washing off with the water, soap lathered over each other. It ran through her hair as he sucked on her neck, on her breasts. The cool stone pressed on her back was a pleasant shock as she had one leg wrapped around his waist, their mouths connected. She moaned into his mouth, his hand on her bum as he moved in her. His tanned skin was so warm against her, shoulders flexing as she held him. He groaned and she gasped, feeling him thrust just a little harder.

“Hawke,” he sighed, fingers tightening on her rear before they moved to her centre, sending shockwaves through her body. She tilted her head back with a moan as his hand moved, licks of lightning shooting through her veins. It built and built until she began to whimper, unashamed as high-pitched noises escaped her when she came. He followed her soon after, leaving them panting together with the water still running.

Dried off and wearing freshly washed pyjamas, Hawke stood in front of the glass wall overlooking the city of Kirkwall. She lived on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in the city, her family name claiming it when the remnants of her family showed up in the city. A full moon was shining overhead but the city lights provided enough to see by. Stretching far out across the streets, she could see Lowtown, fires burning and buildings crumbling. Even from up so high she could see the Templar cars parked along the sides of roads, their blue sirens twinkling. If she looked closer, she could even see the Templars themselves, their guns out as they patrolled the troubled streets. She knew that ten of them lay dead in a now empty five-star restaurant in Hightown where she and Fenris had spent the entire evening. She had slogged back too many martinis by the time their deal was to happen, but there was nothing like throwing up a table for cover and shooting at the lyrium-addicted officers to sober up. But now both the cash and the firearms were in their possession, and the night was coming to a nice close.

Hawke walked back towards her bed, pulling back the covers and getting in as she listened to the sound of Fenris brushing his teeth. She had been at this for years now, and it didn’t look like it was going to let up any time soon. Sometimes she let her mind wander back to when she had first arrived in Kirkwall, her mother, brother and sister with barely any money to get by. Their uncle had been generous by the city’s standards to let them stay with him. It had been a rough year scraping by on crappy deals, but at least Hawke had gotten into pushing lyrium quick enough to get them somewhere. Her mother’s maiden name Amell had meant something in the city once, but her running away and her brother losing the family fortune provided nothing when they arrived out of desperation. Now with her title reclaimed, cash flowing faster than the blood that ran through the streets, she was sitting (nearly) on top of the whole city.

And then there was Fenris. They met before she had any real coin. He was an escaped slave from Tevinter where that abhorrent shit was still legal. He was terrifying when they first met, slaughtering thugs who had tried to step to the both of them one night. Hawke supposed it was that dangerous streak that attracted her in the first place. The way he used his lyrium tattoos to reach into a man’s chest and tear out his heart just left her weak in the knees. They had started their romance too quickly, she always thought with a lot of regret. It hadn’t begun smoothly, to say the least. There were still times she noticed where he seemed apprehensive with her, bad memories of his enslavement never leaving his mind. But they were working past it. She had always loved him.

He returned to her room, climbing into bed next to her. She curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest. They didn’t need to say a word to each other before they were drifting off to sleep, the distant sounds of sirens just background noise to their slumber.

\--

The smell of smoke hit her as she stepped into the club through the alleyway entrance. She paused only for a second, letting her eyes scan over the booths and tables, the dark room made darker by the sunglasses she refused to take off. Making her way to the back of the club where she knew he would be sitting, Hawke removed the black wide-brimmed hat. Finally she found him sitting hunched over at a booth, a glass of clear liquid - double vodka, no doubt - his face concealed by a hood, but the strands of blond hair sticking out gave him away. She took a seat at the booth beside his so they sat back to back.

“So what’s this about?” she asked, voice dropped low to remain quiet. Her gazed flicked up to the waiter who was walking her way. She quickly ordered neat whiskey and didn’t hear a reply until the server left.

“I’ve got a lead for you.”

“I’m listening. Since you dragged me out here anyway. You _know_ this place skimps on the booze.”

A gentle sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I’ve got a good way you can put a dent into the Templars.”

“And?” Hawke asked, just as the waiter brought her her drink. “What’s in it for me?”

“If you do this, I can get ten mages out of the Circle by tonight.”

She swirled the whiskey around in the glass before taking the first sip. Cheap stuff, as she suspected. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Another sigh, not so gentle. “Cash, lyrium, guns, what do you want?”

“You can’t afford me, what can I take from the Templars-slash-Chantry if I do this?”

Anders didn’t answer as spot lights across the room suddenly switched on to illuminate a small stage. There was a small band that began to play without warning, ambient jazz filling the club. Hawke frowned, curious as she had never heard any live music in the place before. She ignored it for the moment, feeling something brush past her. Looking up, Anders had plunked himself in the seat opposite her, the buckles of his leather jacket clinking. The hood of his sweater was up, and he was dressed entirely in black save for a red bandana tied around his neck that was just peaking out.

“The Templars have an operation set up in the basement of this club. It’s a front for dealing more lyrium than the Chantry lets ‘em have.”

“Now that’s got my attention.” Hawke grinned as Anders leaned over the table, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There’s one of their commanders who is always down there. I say get down to that basement and take out any of the Templars that might be in here. I mean, you can feel that lyrium in the air here, can’t you?”

“So _that’s_ what that is.” Her eyes scanned around the room, noticing a few men looking away when she did so. Another light on the stage lit up revealing the singer for the evening. Hawke watched the stage, a small applause and a couple wolf whistles coming from the crowd as the woman swayed her hips to the music. She wore a short white dress, plenty of gold bangles and-

“What’s going on?” Hawke asked, all traces of amusement vanishing from her face as the woman began to sing. “Why is Isabela singing at this club?”

Anders looked away, pursing his lips together. “Do you have your gun?”

“Obviously.” She slumped back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other.

“Come with me.” Anders slid out of the booth as Hawke sighed, drinking down the last of her whiskey and followed him towards the restrooms on the other side of the room. There was another door reading “STAFF ONLY” which he then brought his hands to, pushing it open with ease.

“She’s been here picking all the locks, we shouldn’t have a problem getting in.”

“This was a dirty, dirty trick, Anders.” They were at the top of a stair case, Anders pulling the handgun that was tucked in the back of his pants. He lead the way down to just outside another door at the bottom of the stairs. He pressed his ear to it.

“If I don’t push you in the right direction, you never do anything. Take all the cash in there that you want, but know that taking down the corrupt institution that is the Chantry is worth so much more.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, but her weapon was drawn in one hand, the other hand feeling the pulse of magic. Anders’ hand hovered over the door handle and then gave it a twist, slamming his weight into the door. He threw a spell into the room, an explosion of fire and surprised screams following. Hawke went after him as she heard the first gunshots and they took cover behind kegs of beer.

She stayed crouched behind the kegs as Anders fired shots, one, two, three, four. He cheered in triumph when she heard a cry from the other side of the room before the Templars returned fire. She was ready to switch with him once he had to reload. Five. Pause. Six, and Anders was ducked behind once again, Hawke switching out to send a shock of lightning that leapt from one Templar to the next. It left them incapacitated as she took what sweet time she had bought herself to look down the sights and hit three targets on their mark. That seemed to be all of them and she hesitated before slowly standing up. Anders was already moving forward, gun pointed down, towards the operation.

As they approached the bodies, Hawke found first a suitcase sitting on one of the tables. She opened it to see the stacks of bills and she nodded in approval. “Well, I guess you don’t have to owe me for bullets,” she said with a laugh, but Anders wasn’t there. He stood near the corner of the room where someone remained alive.

“Please, no,” the man said, scrambling on the floor while Anders stood over him. “Please, I won’t tell.”

“You’re a Templar, don’t be stupid.” Anders cocked his gun.

“Anders,” Hawke said gently, but it didn’t grab his attention. She looked away when she heard the final shot, shoulders slumping as she closed the suitcase. Anders walked away, and began to rifle around the other things in the room.

“Don’t start, Hawke,” he said gravely. “You know what I have to do.”

_You don’t have to do anything,_ she thought bitterly, but didn’t say anything. They just took what they needed and were back out the door and up the stairs to the club once again.

As they emerged, the small crowd was applauding the stage, Isabela smiling and taking a bow. The lights on the stage switched off as Hawke and Anders took their respective spots back at the booth.

“So what’s this about getting ten mages out of the Circle tonight?” Hawke asked.

“Oh, well,” Anders began, a semblance of a smile crossing his face. “I’ve been in contact with a number of them and they’re be using the tunnels tonight while the Templars are distracted by this little fiasco.”

She gave a small shrug, but Anders just looked annoyed.

“Hawke, it’s getting serious. I know you’re more interested in personal wealth, but The Chantry has been bleeding families like yours dry for years now. Even if you don’t care about the plight of mages, you should at least be concerned all their taxation to buy lyrium is worth knocking them down a peg.”

“Anders,” Hawke began, drumming her fingers on the briefcase that sat next to her. “It’s not that. I do care about the mages, and I’ll always help you to get them out. But The Chantry is never going away. And you’re one person, you can’t take down an entire institution by yourself. Plus, it is families like mine and all the other nobles in this city that have knocked them down a peg from the taxation.”

He snorted. “Yeah, by instituting criminal warfare. You’re just going to burn each other out, you know. But if the mages are free, we could start a _real_ war against the Chantry. Maybe then the rest of the world will see just how corrupt they’ve become.”

Hawke didn’t have a response, an awkward pause hanging between them.

“You were never in the Circle. I was. Horrible things happen in there with those lyrium-addled junkies they call a police force.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket, taking out a single bill and leaving it on the table. “I’ll get your drink. Thank you, Hawke. You’re doing more good than you know.”

“I hope you’re right.”

 


End file.
